


Permanence

by waterbird13



Series: Tumblr Fics [40]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Memories, Tattoos, weird POV shift
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-18
Updated: 2015-05-18
Packaged: 2018-03-31 02:18:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3960664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waterbird13/pseuds/waterbird13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam's body is a canvas of ink and scars, something constantly being added to, something very important, something he doesn't share. That is, not until Cas and he start a relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Permanence

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone--
> 
> This is a very old fic I'm moving from Tumblr. It's a little weird--it's two pieces that were meant to be companions but not necessarily together. I've strung them together the best I can, but there is a POV shift in the middle.  
> Warnings: Tattoos, little talk of grief.  
> Hope you enjoy.

Sam has lines of ink, curves of protection and memories and remembrance pressed into his skin, all hidden under layer upon layer of clothing. They’re not for anyone else. They’re for him.

There’re runes and sigils and ancient signs of protection mixed in with a line from Jess’ favorite book and tiny etchings of dates. He has Enochian prayers across his spine, protection sigils against his ribs, ancient wards against evil on his shoulders, names of loved ones where nothing else occupies his skin.

He doesn’t think about it much, the ink meshing with the scars, his body a canvas recording thirty (hundreds) of years of life, a recording of his love and his fuck-ups, his job and his family, his research and his experience. He sees them in the mirror when he happens to look into one, but they don’t capture his attention. They’re just there, like a reassuring blanket he can never let go of.

Dean knows they’re there because Sam can’t always do his own stitches, but he doesn’t say anything because he knows Sam won’t answer, won’t explain what this rune means or that date refers to, what language that is or what book that’s from. Sam shrugs his shirt back on as soon as he’s done, and that’s the end of that.

Sometimes, he thinks, clinically and coldly, that when he dies, he will either end up burnt to ash, his skin and its marking reduced to nothing, or he’ll end up some anonymous John Doe on a cold slab somewhere, with someone absently pondering the markings as they cut into his skin. It won’t matter to Sam much then, even if someone gets a bit curious, does a bit of research of their own. He’ll be dead, he’ll be gone, and it will mean nothing.

He gets new ones from time to time, in towns all across America, never more than one from the same person. It fades into the canvas pretty fast, but for a week or two, Sam can’t help but look, when he’s in the shower, changing for bed, alone at night, examining the new marking important enough to be on his skin forever.

Sam Winchester has tattoos across his scarred, world-weary body, ink and scars side-by-side, an account of a man with numerous stories he’s not telling, not to anyone. He’s hundreds of years old, and his skin reads like a book, memories and reminders and promises and hopes etched into him, but in a language only he can read.

Which, Sam supposes, is appropriate, because no one besides him really cares for this story.

That all was true, until he and Cas became something more, until Sam finally had someone to show himself to, until he had someone he wanted to see him, and see the tattoos.

       

 

Cas sees them. He doesn’t ask about them but he’s more than aware of them, his fingers questing across Sam’s body, inevitably finding the tattoos.

He knows what some of them mean, at least at their most basic level. Enochian prayers, sigils, and old-world protection symbols are part of his vocabulary. He even knows what book that line across Sam’s hip is from, thanks to Metatron’s interference.

What he doesn’t know is why Sam picked these particular marks, why this one meant more than any other, why he needed it permanently across his skin. What does that book mean to Sam? Why is this prayer the one he feels the need to remember?

He doesn’t ask, knowing this is something he has to be invited to, and Sam seems to appreciate the lack of pressing questions.

He likes how they look, and wonders if that makes him what the humans call shallow, considering how much pain many of them must represent. But he likes it, likes the way the lines and curves of ink flex and move with Sam’s body, likes finding the tattoos as he’s touching and kissing across Sam’s skin, like an artful surprise as he moves.

Sam tells him slowly, at his own pace. They’re not complete explanations, fragments of information offered quietly. Some of them are things Cas already knows but he’s grateful nonetheless, flattered that Sam trusts him enough to share.

Then there comes a day where Sam shyly tells Cas he’s going to get another tattoo. It’s not the first time he’s gotten a new one since they’ve been together but it’s the first time he’s told Cas beforehand. More than that, he invites Cas to come with him, and Cas accepts in a way he hopes isn’t too eager.

Sam allows Cas to hold his hand as another sigil is inked into a free spot near his spine. Cas supposes Sam does not actually require hand-holding, because he doubts Sam truly feels much pain if he does this so often. The gesture is likely more for Cas’ sake, which Cas appreciates.

He’s a combination of horrified and curious as he watches the work, but he can’t help but be fascinated at the little mark—truly small, this one no larger than a silver dollar, a tiny space across Sam’s expansive back—watching it studiously before the tattoo artists covers it up to heal.

Sam thanks the man, assures him he knows full well how to care for his new acquisition, and leads Cas out of the shop.           

Cas wants to tell Sam it looks very nice. He wants to thank him for inviting Cas along. He wants to ask why Sam feels the need to add yet another ward against invading evil to his skin.

He does none of that, knowing that there is a line and it’s not his job to shift the line. It’s his job to respect it. So instead, he squeezes the had he still has clasped in his and uses his other hand to tilt Sam’s head down for a kiss, and he hopes it communicates everything he intends.


End file.
